Red-handed
by wonderwoundedhearers
Summary: Mr Gold seeks to catch a thief, but he gets so much more than he bargained for. Lang/Lem. O/s.


**Author's note**: So I had major writer's block and then this was born. How, I do not know, but aren't you glad? I sure am! This is for all the wonderful new readers I've been getting – _thank you_, guys.

* * *

It all began with one of his shirts.

It wasn't his nicest or his softest, his most flattering or his most precious, and so, when it went missing, he barely thought on it more than to make a note to buy another, maybe two.

However when, after a week or so had passed, another of his button-downs went missing, he began to consider whether or not something more sinister was afoot.

Mr Gold was a suspicious man, and now he had his magical memories in tact and was reunited with his True Love he was even more suspicious, even more territorial, and even more like a dragon guarding its golden hoard. He had more to lose in such a tenuous position – half-magical, half-mortal – than he had in the Old World, and now, on the verge of leaving Storybrooke to find his Bae, he was so incredibly careful about every step he took, in case it should prove to be his downfall.

So when his pocket-squares began to disappear along with his shirts, he began to delve into the matter.

There wasn't much one could do, magically or otherwise, with a piece of clothing, but he had proved before, numerous times, that even the most insignificant of objects could prove to be useful in the right (or wrong) hands. And it wasn't so much the fact that some unknown was in possession of a few of his shirts and adornments – no, it was that they had taken the things right from underneath his _very nose_, and it was that not knowing, that _ignorance_, of _how_ they'd done it that truly irked and rankled him beyond measure.

Mr Gold – _Rumplestiltskin_ – was not to be out-done.

He tried tracing his cottons and silks with magic, but the spells he used bore no fruit. He tried retracing his footsteps, thinking where he might have put the clothes besides in his laundry hamper for washing, but could not remember a single kink in his usual routine of undressing and throwing his clothes in the wicker basket in his bedroom.

Then, to add insult to injury, a pair of his socks disappeared.

Again, they were not his favourite pair, nor very special – plain black with, he vaguely remembered, a worn patch at the right heel – but it was the _principle_ of the matter.

Not to mention it was slowly driving him out of his mind.

It escalated quickly after the socks. Next to go was a worn blue t-shirt that he occasionally slept in. After that, it was his lilac silk tie's turn to disappear. Then an old brown jumper vanished from his closet.

The final straw came in the shape of a handkerchief.

It was made of plain white cotton, worn thin and soft from years of washes, and had only the tiniest of navy stitches decorating the edges. It wasn't the material that made it special, or how long he had owned it for, but that he had offered it to someone else.

The night Belle had been returned to him, had willingly followed him into his house and kept his company, she had crept into his room in the middle of the night to seek comfort. Her tears had been unbearable, and he had only the balm of a soft handkerchief to give her as he held her in the dark, seeing her through her nightmares.

He had kept it after that, holding onto it jealously, remembering the feel of her warm body beside his, before she had grown strong and distant, keeping to her room at night instead of brightening his.

Mr Gold was overjoyed, truly, that Belle had come so far, but he still missed her. Oh, they talked and took tea, and she visited the shop most days, but it was never with that intimacy that he had felt those first few nights, like both their chests were spread wide open and they could see inside one another.

So, he didn't have Belle's confidence, and he didn't have the consolation of her faded scent on the handkerchief, and that...that was _it_.

He took it upon himself to scour Storybrooke, from scanning what passersby wore to glancing in second-hand clothes shops, and, if he had enough time, he would pass his magic through those nearby to pick up even the faintest _tingle_ of his magical imprint.

There was no joy to be found in the general populace, nor in specific individuals. Regina had been at the top of his list of (the usual) suspects, but had fallen rapidly once he could detect nothing of himself about her and once he had realised that she was fully occupied with her adopted son and his birth mother.

He was, after much effort and wasted time, to be thwarted, it seemed.

Stumped – and more than a little defeated – Mr Gold shut up shop and tried to buoy himself with the idea that soon enough he would be with Belle, having dinner, and she would be smiling at him...

The thought helped a little, but it still left a bitter taste in his mouth. Yes, she smiled at him, kissed his cheek, touched his shoulder, but she didn't trust him – not anymore – and he didn't know how to fix it.

He didn't want her to trip or fall, but he just wished that she would lean on him again, open up and let him in.

He thought of her as he drove home in his black Cadillac. The radio was off and there was never anything more pleasant to fill his head with than thoughts of Belle.

He was proud of her – incredibly so – and she had come so far so fast, learning new and strange things. She could operate any technology in the house, and she knew how a credit card worked. She liked the T.V. but preferred the radio. She also seemed to be a fervent believer in following fashion, because she had come home one day with heels and skirts in all lengths, and every time she wore something new he would be completely struck by her (not that he wasn't anyway.)

He pulled up outside the house just as the sun began to sink, cutting the engine and taking his cane in hand. He absently wondered how long it would be before his stick went missing too.

He whimsically thought about approaching his closet one morning in the future to discover he had no shoes left, that they'd all been stolen, but this humour was false and short-lived, turning sour at the thought that the burglar might soon move onto Belle and her precious possessions.

He couldn't allow that, and yet...he had no idea how to stop the thief. What could he do but watch and wait and _plot_?

Mr Gold opened the door with a jingle of his small bunch of keys and was immediately assaulted by the rich aroma of tomatoes and herbs.

"Belle?"

His call was answered by a muffled curse and a soft thump, before her lilting voice came from down the hallway that led to the kitchen. "In here, Rumple!"

He closed and locked the front door behind him – doubly checking it was secure – before putting his keys in the bowl by the door and hanging his overcoat on a peg. He swiftly took the hall, cane at his side, and entered the kitchen to find Belle bent over a large boiling pot.

"What are you doing?" He asked with a fond smile, as Belle glanced over her shoulder at him.

"Making dinner."

He went to her side and leaned in to kiss her cheek. Her hair tickled his nose as he pressed his lips to her skin. She smelt divine – of tea and perfume and warmth – and the jeans and blouse she wore distracted him beyond measure.

"I can see that," he murmured, moving away before he got too ahead of himself and glancing in the pot. "Spaghetti. Delicious. Thank you, dear."

Belle beamed. "You're welcome. Why don't you go wash up. It's almost ready."

Mr Gold watched Belle finish making supper while he stripped off his jacket and waistcoat, before unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his shirtsleeves to wash his hands.

She smiled and sent him precious little looks that he would take and treasure, as she moved about the kitchen space. She looked happy there, among the pale yellow walls and dark burgundy cupboards, like she'd found a spot of brightness in this dreary world.

He made to set the table in the adjacent room, watching Belle over the hob as she cut the flames and he straightened the edges of the napkins.

It was pretty, this little bubble they'd made for themselves – a place where they were both domestic and happy, and neither one sought anything from the other. But he sought from her, as he always had, because he was greedy and selfish, and he had always wanted her in every way imaginable.

He straightened the cutlery on the table and polished the crystal cut wine glasses, knowing that Belle was too kind and good to know where his thoughts often led him concerning her, where his mind went after a day of loving her from afar and watching her twirl in her skirts.

She pulled him from his thoughts, bumping his elbow playfully and putting down his best china plates in the places he'd set for them, next to each other on one side of the polished wooden table.

He reached out, ready to correct the mistake his thoughts had obviously led him to, when Belle pulled out the chair at his side and sat down.

"Much cosier this way," she commented, smiling brightly and looking entirely unaffected by the change.

It stopped Mr Gold short, but he was not one to question good fortune, especially when it allowed him to sit next to Belle for longer than he usually did.

It was sweet torture as he leant his cane to the side and took his seat, accidentally brushing his leg against Belle's as he drew himself closer to the table.

They ate and talked about the shop – the people that had come and gone, the things he had repaired and sold – before moving onto Belle's day and the book she had finished.

"It was _incredible_," she said passionately, finishing the crimson dregs in her wine glass. "It was about this man who could turn back time. Have you ever done that?"

It wasn't an accusation, more of an interested enquiry, and it made him smile as he finished a crust of garlic bread.

"No," he told Belle, dusting his fingertips and dabbing his mouth clean with his napkin. "A little beyond the realm of magic, I think, and more in the jurisdiction of science fiction."

"Oh." She looked barely disappointed. "I suppose that's for the best. Imagine what people would do."

He thought about Bae and millions of other regrets, before his mind tacked on to its earlier trail and considered if he could catch the thief taking his belongings in the act. Shame it was all speculation, really, because he would so love to thrash the bastard carrying his precious handkerchief after catching him with it red-handed.

Belle left the table to clear away the dishes, and Mr Gold glanced up from musing down at his plate to gaze after her. He was just about to get to his feet and help her clean up when something most...providential happened.

As Belle stepped about the counter just inside the kitchen door, Mr Gold happened to glance down (from her shapely legs) to witness the flash of pale flesh at the heel of her right foot.

He frowned as he stood, unsure where his thoughts were taking him as he grasped his cane from its resting place and made his way into the kitchen. He watched as Belle stepped up to the kitchen sink, turning on the tap and filling the wide steel basin with foamy suds, before reaching back up to the shelf just beside her to replace the bottle of dish soap.

She went up on her toes to reach, and besides giving him a lovely view of her backside, shown to its best advantage in skin-tight denim, he also saw her feet, unshod and clad in black ribbed cotton that he instantly recognised for the worn patch in the right heel, now a small hole.

It struck him like déjà vu.

He didn't know whether it was witnessing this scene or true memory, but he remembered her wearing something similar to his missing brown jumper when they had both gotten up in the middle of the night to visit the bathroom a few days past.

She hadn't noticed him and he'd been half-asleep, stepping back into his room to let her go first, but he was sure he saw the slightly hairy-knit sweater hanging off of her slender shoulders.

Mr Gold stared at Belle's back, slightly agog and wondering whether she was the thief or if all of this was simply a misunderstanding. She could have gotten his things once they were clean, mixed in with her washing, but why hadn't she given them back?

His lip, of its own accord, twisted in satisfaction.

He had found his thief, and now, he would catch her. _Red-handed_.

* * *

Six days passed with nothing going missing besides his patience.

Belle was all innocence and sweetness, but she didn't know he _knew_ and he saw her wearing those socks of his often.

It wasn't that he minded – no, in fact the thought of her wearing anything of his filled him with some rare masculine pride – but it was more the _why_.

She could wear anything, _buy_ anything, and yet she took his things? It was confusing, but even worse was the thought of Belle, alone in bed at night, wearing nothing but one of his shirts and–

No, surely she didn't do that. She was innocent, only wanting of a few chaste kisses which he was more than willing to give, but the _thought_ of her, naked beneath his shirt and writhing in her bed, had him clutching at his cane for support.

It was a Tuesday night – no moon and unseasonably warm – that his worn patience was rewarded.

They ate dinner and watched a little television afterwards, laughing about the preposterous plot to a sitcom and enjoying each other's company. They sat closer on the couch, touching, and Mr Gold had long put his arm across the back of the sofa behind Belle's head. She had long been angled into him, and he had been thoroughly enjoying her scent and her warmth, before she yawned and smiled, excusing herself for bed.

Once she had gone, he glanced at the clock and gave a sly sort of smile to the empty room.

He knew her habits like his own, and ten o'clock was far too early for his little night owl bookworm.

He turned off the T.V. set and the lights downstairs, going through his pre-bedtime routine of checking the doors and windows were locked, before climbing the stairs and making for the open bathroom door just down the hall away from his room. He made sure to close and lock the door extra loudly.

He turned the shower on, pretending to get in by opening and closing the door to the cubicle, and then he waited.

It was difficult to hear much beyond the loud thrumming of the water, but he had an inkling – magical or otherwise, he didn't know – that Belle was no longer in her room.

Deciding that an instantaneous magical appearance might scare her a little _too _much, he silently opened the lock on the bathroom door and snuck out, leaving his cane behind.

His socked feet made little noise across the hall rug, even with his slightly unsure steps from his bad leg, and he was thankful that none of the floorboards creaked as he crossed the landing to his room.

The door stood slightly ajar, allowing him to peek through. The room was shadowed, lit by his single bedside lamp, and, inside, he could see a familiar figure, bent by the window where his laundry hamper sat.

Mr Gold stepped inside, quiet as anything on the thick carpeted floor, before shutting the bedroom door behind him with a definite and purposeful _click_.

Belle's head shot up, blue eyes wide and lips parted in surprise. She straightened, stepping back from the basket, and he looked down to see a t-shirt of his gripped in her slim fingers.

He tried to hide his victorious smile, but he couldn't quite manage it. He had found his thief, and though, of course, he wouldn't thrash her for it, he_ would_ tease.

"I thought there was something going on. A thievish little mouse, perhaps." His lip curled in amusement. "Guess I was right."

Belle suddenly stepped forward. "Rum, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean–"

All of a sudden, his humour vanished. Her brow was creased and she looked so _guilty _– did she really think him angry at her?

Confused and lustful, yes, but angry, no.

He went to her, touching her wrist and waiting for her to look him in the eye.

When she managed to tilt her chin, he asked, "Why? Were you really in such desperate need of socks and shirts?"

Belle laughed then, wet and wavering, looking shamed at being caught so blatantly. He started to doubt the wisdom of confronting her, wondering if this might drive her away from him, misunderstanding his playfulness for cruelty.

"No," she said. "I just...liked having you near me."

Time and time again she stumped him – over and over – and this time was no different. He stood there, frowning in disbelief that she took his things _because_ they were his.

"Why didn't you say something?"

She glanced at him beneath her black lashes in the gloom. "I'm...not very experienced in these things."

"What things?" Mr Gold asked, stepping closer to her and hoping to offer comfort even if he was lost himself.

Belle rubbed her nose and dropped the shirt back in the hamper before turning to him more fully, tilting her face so she could look him directly in the eye.

"I didn't know how to tell you that I... Well...you make me..._uncomfortable_."

This, being a thing he constantly dreaded, cut him straight through. "Sweetheart, I never meant to–"

Belle shook her head, curls lashing every which way, and licked her lip. He watched, distracted, as her tongue swept across the sweet, flushed flesh. He wanted to bite it so very badly.

"You make me," she emphasised slowly, taking his hands in hers, "_uncomfortable_."

Mr Gold was prepared to step back, cursing himself for being so stupid as to snuff out the only light in his life, but her hands kept him tethered and then...then she was drawing nearer, placing her hips in his palms and he...he understood.

It was like a veil had been lifted.

Belle had drawn away for fear of not knowing how to draw nearer, and she had stolen his clothes because...

"They smelt like you," she murmured. "Your shirts. I liked wearing your socks, too, and I took your handkerchiefs because I liked looking at them through the day."

"I want one of those back, by the way," he muttered, dazed and confused and– "Do you _want_ me, Belle?"

She bit her lip momentarily. "I think so. Sometimes...you make me really out of breath."

Mr Gold felt his eyelids droop at the implication. "And you've never..."

Belle shook her head. "I've only ever..._felt_ like this around you."

His hands, settled at her waist, slid in opposite directions, drawing her against him and holding her close. Short of breath, she puffed warm air against his chin as she looked up at him, and he felt that burning desire for her in the pit of his stomach increase tenfold, flowering throughout his body.

All thought of his missing clothes fled in light of this revelation, that Belle wanted more than he had ever thought possible.

He could feel his leg weakening, but that didn't matter. Not when he had Belle in his arms, _wanting_.

Mr Gold's heart thumped unsteadily as Belle's hands came to rest at his shoulders, slipping about his neck to twine in his hair and _tug_.

He kissed her. There was no gentle civility, no soft capitulation as he taught her the rhythm between lips and tongue and tongue and teeth. He kissed her and she kissed him back. When he bit, she bit. When he groaned, her own moan rose in her throat.

His excitement built. His undiluted desire went unchecked, free to force his hand into her hair and curl his fingers about the soft locks.

Belle's nails dug into the soft flesh at the nape of his neck, _dragging_, and he tore his mouth from hers with a shuddering gasp.

Wild-eyed, she stared back him, her lips red and her cheeks flushed. She panted, gripping him harder and drawing even closer until her breasts were crushed against the flat plane of his chest and he could have sworn he felt her heart beating.

"What d'you want, Belle?" Mr Gold managed, his left hand fisting in the back of her shirt.

She swallowed and took a deep, _even_ breath. "I want you to show me, Rum, _please_. Show me _how_."

He nodded slowly and jerkily, swallowing around the words of things she wouldn't appreciate. She chose her own fate, he knew that, and he wouldn't question this, wouldn't patronise her by asking if this was what she _really _wanted just because she wasn't practised in lust.

He could tell by her dark eyes and her eager touches that she wanted this, wanted _him_, and he would show her all he could.

Mr Gold kissed Belle again, hard, drawing her out and finding her more than proficient at that particular task. She made his head spin with just a delicate flick of her tongue against his, causing his cock to strain in his shorts and all thought to flee.

She pulled back after a moment, eyebrows high, but it was not innocence that caused her to glance down between them. No, she knew enough, he could tell, and it made him desire her even more.

There was nothing more perfect than Belle with a book in her hands, eager to memorise the words and touch the pages, to learn and discover, and, now, _he_ was the book.

She looked at him like one of her novels, like she wanted to devour him whole but knew she would take him apart piece by piece, and he almost lost his head then.

It was a heady feeling, being wanted, after so much time alone, but Belle had always dispelled his self-indulgent notions, and, at this moment, he was just a man, a man with a woman to teach and to please as best he could.

Slowly, he slid his hands beneath the hem of her t-shirt. Belle did not hesitate to aid his touch, as he drew the shirt up, over her head, and threw it to the wayside.

He looked at her for a moment longer than he probably should have, but he would defy any man that said they could ignore Belle in all her beauty. She stood there for a moment, unsure as he gazed at her in her bra and jeans. He drew a hesitant finger down her collarbone and across her breastbone, to the tiniest bow between her breasts.

"You," Mr Gold whispered sincerely, "are the most beautiful creature to grace any world."

Her soft, slow smile told him she knew he meant more than just her body was beautiful.

His fingertip, curious and roving, dipped beneath the bow, before sliding up, unsurely, to rest between her soft, pale breast and the warm cotton of her bra. She glanced down, a gentle shiver racing across her skin, before looking him in the eye once more.

His finger slipped lower, finding her warm flesh and relishing her feel, before the back of his knuckle gently ran over her nipple. Belle immediately bit her lip, and Mr Gold did it again, sliding a second finger beneath the soft cup of her bra and teasing the burgeoning point beneath.

Belle's breath came faster as he stroked, slow and slower, _circling_ until he thought he was half-mad from it himself. His other hand snuck forwards, slipping around her soft flank and up the smooth expanse of her back.

He found the catch to her bra and made the hooks holding it together disappear with the faintest _snick_. The bra fell, silky straps sliding over Belle's slender shoulders, leaving her breasts naked to his gaze.

They were a thing of beauty, to be sure, with wide rosy nipples and creamy flesh, but he sought more interesting diversions. Her eyes, for instance. So wide and expressive, they told him everything he needed to know.

His fingertips were welcome, his nails were not, and his palms, cupping her soft and sensitive flesh, oh, they were the best of all. She sighed at his touch, and moaned, trying to burrow her clasping fingers through his shoulders as she jolted at a single touch, the lightest stroke, the faintest pinch.

And then he kissed her, dipping his head to her breast and breathing in the perfume that she had dabbed between them. Her breath hitched above him as he kissed the very slope of her breast, progressing to the curve and tracing it with his tongue, while his thumbs sought to continue the pleasant torture of her tightened nipples.

His knee protested at the angle, but his cock even more so. It was not enough to have her breathless and standing. He wanted her bliss-broken and her limbs tangled with his beneath the duvet.

Belle kissed his crown as he stayed at her breast, his tongue laving a nipple until she gasped and threw her head back. He kissed his way up the length of her throat, feeling her heartbeat and a moan hidden there, buzzing against his lips. His tongue tasted her, finding her sweet and musky.

"Show me," she breathed, and he knew she didn't mean _how_.

Belle gripped his tie in one hand and held him fast as her other fingers trailed down from his shoulder, across his chest, to play with the buttons dropping to his waist.

He didn't stop her, didn't even _try_ to, and she kissed him for it, soft and sucking and perfect.

She undid the buttons of his shirt with swift motions, stumbling only once in her eagerness to have him undressed. Once the sides were parted and untucked, she simply drew it down his arms.

It left his tie about his neck, pointless, but she laughed softly and smiled like she enjoyed seeing the red silk there without its partner. She tugged the knot and brought him down for a kiss.

When they parted, she asked, "Is it the same...for you?"

He was about to ask her to clarify when two warm fingertips drew a line across his pectoral, over his flat nipple. He sucked in an unsteady breath, feeling her touch shoot right down to the very core of him.

All his carnal knowledge came from Mr Gold's false memories of meaningless conquests thought up by Regina, the Dark One's previous incarnations, and his own pitiful experience with Milah. He might've had more than an idea how to please Belle, but _he_ was a mystery, even to himself.

"I...don't know," he managed to tell her, and she smiled as bright as the sun.

"We can learn together," Belle said softly, and he realised he wanted that more than anything.

Her fingers, still on the move, pushed aside his tie and trailed through the sparse hair smattering his chest. Her nails pressed into his skin and he groaned. Belle's fingers teased him as his own hands slid about her to stroke her back.

She surprised him with a gentle, soft-lipped kiss to his chest, and then lower, against his nipple. He gasped and gripped her, his cock pulsing as her tongue traced invisible lines across his chest. A suck against his skin, drawing his flesh between her pearly teeth, and he was lost, groaning and desperate.

Belle pressed her hands to his quivering stomach, making the coiled muscles there jump, and lifted her torturous lips from his heaving chest, letting his tie fall back into place.

Her fingers slipped through the soft trail of hair descending from his navel, to the button of his trousers. He slid his hands into her hair and beneath the waistband at the back of her jeans.

She was so soft, so lovely, and he was in no mind to resist any of her numerous charms.

He glanced at the soft, four-poster, and Belle smiled. It was a soft and fragile thing, but there was no fear in her face, only new desires and nervousness.

She drew away, the removal of her warm hands leaving him feeling bereft, and moved to sit on the very edge of the bed, among the burgundy sheets and pillows. Her hands went to the sides of her jeans, thumbs dipping beneath the edge, and her eyes remained on his.

Mr Gold swallowed, stepping closer as his own fingers went to work on the buttons and zip of his trousers. It was incredibly erotic, watching Belle's fair fingers shed the last of her clothes as he did the same.

He watched, his clothes spilling on the floor, as Belle dropped her white underwear off the side of the bed. Naked, she sat back, knees hooked over the edge of the mattress and palms pressed into the soft bed.

Belle's eyes dipped, taking him in, and though the skin of his right calf was twisted and scarred from his hobbling, her soft and desirous gaze assured him that it made no difference to how she felt about him.

A weight, three times the size of him, lifted from his shoulders, and he could let himself enjoy her looking at him, knowing that she wouldn't flinch at the sight of his old injury.

In return, he looked at her. Her thighs were pressed tightly together, but he could see the curls gracing her mound and the hint of pinkness between her legs. His cock jumped, as did Belle's eyebrows, and then she was looking into his eyes, trying to draw him nearer with her gaze alone, and it worked.

Mr Gold wanted to kneel at her feet, press a hand between those delicate knees and part her silky thighs, but Belle wanted otherwise, and he would always bend to her in this, if not most things.

She curled her fingers about the knot in his tie as he held himself above her, hands and knees, and stroked his flank until he shivered under her touch. She smiled and shifted back, edging further onto the bed with him, and then she was arching against him, bringing him further down against her and making him moan.

His hair fell about their faces, a thin curtain, and Belle took his lips with a gentleness that did not belie her restless and rolling hips.

"Show me, Rum," she whispered breathlessly. "Show me what I've been missing."

He knew, somehow, that she didn't mean what she had been missing out on. She meant what she had been missing with _him_.

He kissed her throat, her face, her shoulders – anywhere he could reach – as he slipped a gentle hand between her thighs and parted her legs. She let him, eyes dark and lidded, and she sighed as his fingers climbed up the inside of her thigh.

"Just relax, sweetheart," he murmured into her ear, voice low and gravelled. "I love you."

She kissed his face and held him close. "I love you, too."

Slowly, his fingers met her sweet slit. He groaned. She was so wet, so warm and welcoming against his fingertips as he sought out the hard bud of her.

Belle bucked beneath him as he stroked, sliding his thumb against the side of her clit, and she keened so softly in his ear he thought he could very well come right then, just from the sound of her pleasure.

"That's it," he whispered to her. "Let me in."

She was so tight, so small that he could barely press his finger inside of her, but his thumb against her pearl persuaded her muscles to let him in, so they could clutch at something, and his middle finger sunk inside her to the knuckle.

She groaned and gripped him at the shoulders, nails scoring his skin as she rolled her hungry hips against his hand. His forefinger was next to stretch her, to press inside her sweet cunt and drive her to throw her head back against the dark bed sheets.

He was panting, throbbing for release, and her eyes shining in the dim light urged him on. He stroked and petted her, whispering things in her ear that would likely make them both blush during daylight hours. Things like how good she felt, how wet she was for him, how lovely and perfect she looked spread on his bed, and–

"Oh, _Gods_. _More_," Belle demanded, her voice breaking. "Tell me more."

Mr Gold settled himself between her thighs, fingers busy and lips occupied with creating a lovely red mark against her pale collarbone.

"Beautiful," he barely gritted out, voice rumbling. "So wet. So good against my fingers. _Fuck_. Squeeze them again, just like that. _Just like that_... Bad, little love..."

Suddenly, she gasped. She shuddered and went rigid, the most beautiful moan parting from her red lips, and he knew he'd done well, knew she'd found her pleasure from his voice and his fingers and..._God_, he loved her so much.

He saw her ride it out as she sucked on her bottom lip, giving him wild and delirious thoughts about her sweet mouth.

Belle blushed when, after calming her movements and shuddering against him one last time, Mr Gold pulled his fingers from her soft haven and her pussy clutched at them desperately.

It was difficult to stop a filthy smirk from crossing his face, and he barely managed it as it was. He did, however, press his lips to the shell of her ear to mutter something equally as depraved.

She watched, stunned, as he drew back and brought his fingers to his mouth to suck her from them. His moan was genuine – she tasted like nothing else.

"Your...mouth?" Belle clarified. "Down _there_?"

He smiled darkly, leaning in close. "I promise, it'll be like nothing else. Fealty is something I'm glad to give you, and I will _kneel_ for you, Belle."

She looked like she was about to sob when she brought his face to hers, to kiss him hard and taste herself on his mouth, and he was so distracted with her kiss, so consumed by her breaths and her damp skin, that he didn't notice her hand skimming down between their bodies until it was wrapped about his cock.

He broke the kiss, trying not to shake and tremble but failing, and watched as Belle shifted beneath him, fitting him more snugly between her silky thighs and pressing the very tip of him to her clit.

Her hand trembled slightly, as her eyelids drooped and a shiver ran through her body, but she took him lower, running down the length of her folds, until he met her entrance.

His hips juddered at the feel of her there, so wet against him, and he took a moment to regain his confidence in the face of her perfection. Her hand left him, wrapping about the back of his neck instead and urging him to look at her.

He did. He took in everything she was in that single moment, and pressed forward.

She shuddered beneath his calming touch, hips jerking against his and helping him slide deeper. She felt so good, so _tight_–

"Perfect, Belle," he hissed against her lips. "_Perfect_."

She was breathless by the time he was fully inside her, mouthing her pleasure and her pain at the ceiling as he buried his face against her soft neck, kissing and soothing. He didn't know how it felt for her, so he didn't tell her so, didn't tell her the worst of the pain was over because he had no idea.

Mr Gold just waited for her word, and it came with a tear collecting at the corner of Belle's eye.

"Rum," she breathed, shifting her hips against his, and he saw a thousand constellations.

Her heels pressed into the backs of his thighs, urging him on, and he raced to acquiesce, buttocks clenching as he withdrew from her heat. She sucked on her lip, wincing, but still she pulled him nearer as he pressed back inside her.

A ragged moan ripped from his chest as she helped him establish a rhythm, teasing him out of his gentility until he was afraid he would hurt her with his desire, with how much he just wanted to...to _fuck_ her.

But, no, she was not afraid, his Belle. She sighed and arched and bit her lip through the pain, calling him his name – his _real_ name – and making him feel...more than wanted.

With her, he was always more.

Their bodies were slick with sweat from their efforts, and as he rested his weight on his right arm he took her hand in his left, their fingers lacing together. Belle smiled, looking like she wanted to laugh, but then his pubic bone met her fleshy clit and she threw her head back into the bed with a strangled wail.

Mr Gold moved over Belle, rocking between her hips with increasing purpose, _knowing_ that she could come again for him. He tried to ignore the way she felt about him, her tight passage unbelievably slick and soft around his cock, but he couldn't. Not while she was writhing beneath him and her tits were being jolted by his hard thrusts...and...

"_Oh, God_..."

He came quickly, shivering as he spilled inside of her with shuddering jerks of his hips, but he was not to be thwarted. With his last ounce of determination, he took Belle's pink clit between his fingertips and _rolled _it.

Her scream rent the air as she threw her hips against his, fingernails cutting into the flesh of his shoulder blades. His aftershocks of bliss stretched into secondary pleasure at the feel of Belle coming with him still inside of her, tightening about him until he couldn't help but bury his face in her shoulder and cry out.

When he dropped, exhausted, she caught him.

They were both too insensible to say anything, and he was too spent to move any further than to make sure he wasn't hurting her. His cock slipped from her as they lazily rearranged themselves and he drew up the duvet to cover their cooling bodies.

His muscles ached, his knee screaming, but Belle was in his arms, sated, and she was smiling as she gripped the tie still about his neck. He thought he might have been smiling too as he fell into an incredibly deep sleep.

* * *

Sunlight, hot across his face, woke him in a daze, and it took him more than a moment to collect his sleep-dusted thoughts enough to remember why he was naked in his bed, a tie about his neck.

Scattered memories and vivid sensations of the previous night had him turning his head to find Belle, but she was nowhere to be seen. His stolen handkerchief, however, lay neatly folded across the pillow strewn at his side.

Frowning, he picked it up and slid out of bed. His discarded pants served as the best (and easiest) form of clothing to cover himself with, to search for his missing lover, but it was as he was pulling them on that he heard singing from downstairs and realised he could smell bacon.

She was cooking breakfast, and his shirt from last night was missing from the floor. He could just imagine her at the stove, wearing his clothes and smiling, rosy cheeked.

Just as he was about to make his way downstairs, he noticed the pair of white panties kicked _just_ under the bed.

Mr Gold picked them up without a second thought, smirking and knowing that every time she stole something of his, from now on, he would steal something of hers, starting with her underwear.

He laughed to himself as pocketed them and went in search of his little thief.


End file.
